


I Know You're Mine

by oppressa



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anne gives zero fucks, Bodily Fluids, Claiming, Cutting, F/M, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, No Aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7799011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/pseuds/oppressa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They think I'm yours but you're mine, isn't that right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilysmum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilysmum/gifts).



> Short fic for my sweet friend and any other lovely people that might enjoy this! (I hope it's okay that I really can't get over Anne and Jack and knives)

 

He doesn't know where she is, tonight. It always takes him ages to get to sleep when she isn't there, especially with his mind still racing about why she's gone off and when she will return.

It wasn't his fault. Those men he'd been trying to make a deal with, they'd insulted her. Said she was his stray bitch, nothing particularly original. Yet it upsets her, even now. And he'd tried to make it right – _we get them back_ after, _Anne, we_ wait. But she still didn't like it, and made it known. He brushed her off then, and she'd left him to drink alone at the inn and flirt with anyone who had the courage to come up to him without her standing guard.

It feels like hours pass without her breathing steadily beside him, her hand tucked under his arm in its habitual place, before he resolves to forget about it and pulls the covers over his head. He's almost fallen asleep, when he hears a commotion in the room, the door being kicked open, the blanket wrenched away, and starts heavily as Anne pounces on him, fully clothed, knife drawn and raised above her head.

“Don't you fucking _move_.” She hisses, sounding mad as hell.

Christ, she'd surprised him. Why didn't he at the very least suspect anything and stay sober? He stares straight up at her ragged outline in the dark, teeth grinding, to pretend he doesn't care for this, that he isn't in the least bit aroused by being taken unawares.

“Hmm.” She says, voice somewhat softer now he seems to be obeying. “Good, Jack.”

“Oh yes?” He answers, breath catching as she lowers the flat of the knife blade onto his bare stomach. His clothes are all in a pile on the floor, and he finds himself wishing he'd kept something on. Then perhaps he wouldn't look quite so vulnerable underneath her. “Would you mind kindly telling me why I should be?”

“Don't speak, either. You done enough of that, today.”

He feels the knife point scrape up his sternum and down again, to the right side of his belly, her left.

“I'll be silent if you'll tell me what the hell you're doing.”

“You'll be even more silent if I stuff something in your trap.” She threatens, and he doesn't ask again.

It cuts into him, one diagonal line, then two, meeting in a triangular shape. Only light scratches, but it's broken skin, causing blood to bead up, he can feel it. Then she crosses another line between the first two, and he realises with a jolt what it is. She's carving her name on him, like he's the fucking escutcheon board of a ship. He only hopes that knife is sufficiently sanitised.

“What comes after that, Jack?” Her hair falls either side of him as she leans down to steady her other hand on his chest. Reluctantly he brings his own hand up, traces the next letter on his stomach, and she follows his finger with the blade, cutting it into his skin painstakingly straight.

“Jesus.” He whispers. He gets a slap for that, and then his hair is grabbed, pulled back savagely. He's entirely at her mercy, and his body reacts as standard for the situation.

“Now your stupid cock's getting in the way.” She bats it aside with her hand, his knees jerk up, the knife comes to rest against his throat. His pulse thuds, in his neck and elsewhere. She just laughs.

She pulls his thighs down against the bed again. His cock bobs uselessly between them. She strokes it, carefully with the handle of the dagger and his mouth is so dry, he has to keep on swallowing reflexively to no effect. Nevertheless he's still and quiet, until she figures he's learned the lesson.

“You're not going to interrupt me again, are you?”

“No.” He replies, hoarsely, barely audible.

“I don't need to make sure of it?” She traces his mouth with a fingernail, then cups her hand around his chin.

 _Oh, fuck you, Anne_. He shakes his head. She pats his face, and returns to sketching lines of fire across his belly.

He does his best not to twitch a muscle, letting her get on with it, the second N, then the E. When it's done he bears her name from under one rib to the other, fresh and stinging as he even moves minutely. But he doesn't have much time to get used to it before her hand closes firmly around his cock. He groans out loud.

“I know.” She says, “I know. They think I'm yours but you're mine, isn't that right?”

It only takes a few brutal squeezes, a couple of gentler touches, her tongue sweetly teasing the tip and then he comes dismally fast on both of them. Anne bites her lip, rolling herself back and forth with her palm on his knee wedged between her legs. He closes his eyes, knowing she's taking in her work and what it did to him and that's going to make her follow suit.

It isn't much longer before she curls around him, not bothering to clean either of them up, too close against him in the sticky heat. He lifts an arm over her hip, trying not to think of the blood and come drying on their bodies for now and take her with him into sleep.

 


End file.
